JUMBLED
by foxdvd
Summary: He allowed his temper to get the best of him, will it also get her? One story, 6 different possible endings, choose the one you like best!
1. Flack Ponders

**A/N: The muse wants me to torture and maim and I refuse to do so. While we reach an agreement, this something other jumped from and center. The title is self-explanatory, so mayhaps you'd like to take your time to read this…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

"Pick up the phone, pick up the phone… come on, come on… pick up the phone, please…."

Voice mail picked up. Again. Third time in a row. Disgusted, Flack closed the phone and threw it on the dash while he continued driving like a mad man with a mission, blue lights crossing his face, his expression unreadable save for the cold blue rage in his eyes. "Officer presumed down" dispatch had said, and she wasn't answering her phone. He wished he could tell for sure if she wasn't answering the phone at all or just not answering his calls. Either way, he was screwed, and he deserved every second of agony, stuck in a traffic that did not seem to care for wailing sirens or remorseful souls.

He was a bastard, had behaved like a bastard and deserved to suffer like a bastard. He wished he could blame Ivan Medina for the whole thing, or blame her for that matter, but deep down he knew the only person to blame for this mess was himself.

He just hoped it wasn't too late to say he was sorry.

Three days ago his life had been as perfect as any other cop in a big city with a high crime index and a low police budget. But he was happy with the way things were, as happy as a man coming to an empty apartment after working 14 hours straight and having nothing but junk food to eat all day long could be. Nothing some ESPN sports, a couple of cold beers and fresh hot pizza wouldn't cure.

Andrea Medina, a blind date and a black dress had set his world upside down.

Ivan Medina had wanted to press charges against him for police brutality and harassment. She had told him to back off, that he was doing race profiling and doing it all wrong, that evidence did not support his gut feeling this time around, but Flack had simply known the man had beaten his wife to death… and that he was going to get away with murder because there hadn't found anything to connect him to Andrea's death. The man was guilty, Flack could almost smell it on him, and had tried to push him to see if Medina would break under pressure. The only thing that had broken, however, had been his composure, and she had to ask a couple of uniforms to restrain him and remove him from the room.

Publicly, Ivan Medina was given this huge apology, the old "given the circumstances we had to rule you out as a suspect" typical bullshit line. Privately, Gerrard had ripped Flack a new one. She had been gracious enough not to say a single word, but her eyes told a different story, the "I-told-you-so" loud and clear in them. And beyond that, disappointment: the man she looked up to had fallen from grace and she was having a hard time coming to terms with it. To Flack, it brought more anger, and remorse was quickly shoved away to make room for the fuel needed to keep his righteous fury going.

He remembered she had been a tad giddy when she finally confided she had been set up on a blind date with a paramedic who had recently moved in next door to her best friend. Candidly, she had confessed not having had a date in the past five or six months, and had asked him for advice on what to wear to an "expo-and-dinner" date. He'd joked saying the guy would probably be more interested in what she wasn't wearing and she had taken offense. In the end, he'd told her to wear a dress, even if it was just for the sake of doing something out of the routine.

Everything had gone wrong that day; too many crime scenes, too little time, the usual shit. And instead of going home at 6 to shower and change and primp herself for her date, she was rushing to the precincts stalls to get ready and running late as it was. He'd wished her good luck before turning back to paperwork backlogged a couple of months and the last thing he had expected was to see her again before the next day, so he was surprised when she came rushing in to retrieve her keys from the desk.

She was wearing a dress. She was wearing a black dress that barely grazed her knees and a neckline that plunged on this side of tasteful and was probably illegal in a couple of southern states. She had endured the catcalls and wolf whistles and Levy's sexist comment on how she ought to dress like that for interrogation and life would be so much easier for all of them. She left then, leaving behind the sound of her chuckle and the flipped bird sent Levy's way. Marion Franks had commented she had looked good enough to consider going butch to get a piece of that, and Flack agreed with her. Truth was, he wouldn't mind not just having a piece, but all of her, and the knowledge was so lighting striking that paperwork was still stacked up to the same height even though he had not left the precinct until after ten.

Andrea Medina's murder scene was enough to make a couple of cops green around the gills and for her to cast her sight aside whenever possible. It had also spur his knight-in-shinning-armor complex, angered that he hadn't been on time to save the damsel in distress in this fairy tale with an unhappily never after ending. He had quickly put together two and two, traditional Latino family, abused wife, silent walls built around the whole thing, husband did it… and his math had not added up. Something had been missing, something other than several of her vital organs, and he couldn't find it, the CSIs couldn't find it, not even Adam's tech toys could find it. And he still felt enraged over the whole thing… the husband had done it (IF the husband had done it, a small voice in his head said, a small voice that sounded a lot like her) and he had been forced to apologize to him! He was going to be limited to desk duty as soon as the Medina case was closed, grounded for a couple of days until he showed enough regret and was considered "safe" for the rest of the world to set him on the loose.

So he had a bad temper. He was Irish with a dash of Italian there, so sue him. He was a cop dealing with scum day in and day out and every other day in between, he was entitled to his temper. Most cops did not survive the job without one, it was temper and adrenaline and Lord knew what else pumping through their veins that made them come back home not too worse for the wear after facing the wrong side of a gun while on duty. Cases like this, cases where the weaker member of the family ended up dead, always angered him, and he took that feeling with him until he'd found the guilty party, and then he made such guilty party know, in no uncertain terms, that he was pissed off and it was their fault. And he made an effort not to pour all the rage unto them. He let go of it later, much later, when he got around to hitting a punching bag, hitting the court with the boys, hitting the booze, hitting the sack with a perfect stranger… or simply hitting the wall until his fingers bled and he felt as if all the fury inside him dripped out alongside his blood.

He'd slipped. Simple as that. He'd promised himself he was not going to mention the way she looked the previous night, and those were exactly the first words that tumbled out of his mouth as soon as he saw her. He used his best poker face when she told him the date had tanked so he wouldn't show he was somewhat relieved to hear that. She mentioned she was done with dating for good; he simply asked her out, surprising both of them.

It had been a mistake. He was man enough to recognize that, but he'd admit it only to himself. He shouldn't had gone the racial route when interviewing Ivan Medina, and he should have known when to leave good enough alone. But he wanted the man to be guilty, he wanted to give some sort of justice to Andrea Medina, he wanted out of that place where he couldn't see beyond his anger.

They had gone back to the crime scene twice already and they found as much as they had found the first time they'd done so: nothing. It seemed as though Andrea Medina had been struck dead by a higher power who left no trace of itself behind, and it irked him beyond measure, firstly because he didn't believe that was possible, and secondly, because if it was, he believed there were other people out there that deserved to be struck like that way more than a poor Hispanic woman trapped inside a violent marriage.

Frustration had lent more fuel to the anger already boiling inside him. When the beat boys came back empty handed once more, he was in dire need of an outlet before he self-combusted. She had read the whole story in his stance, and had tried to offer some consolation just by placing her hand on his back. He'd spun around as if stabbed, batting her hand away. She apologized for startling him, which in turn infuriated him more; he needed confrontation.

She offered words of solace, thus offering herself as the sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered on the altar of his enraged impotence.

What he's said to her, he didn't dare remember. She just looked at him with her eyes open wide and a nervous flutter of eyelashes and told him to stop making fun of her. It took him several moments to finally convince her he seriously meant it, that he was interested. She smiled, a smile that lit up her whole face, and had lowered her eyes in a gesture he found adorable and coquettish at the same time and he wondered for the fiftieth millionth time already how come he hadn't notice just how good she made him feel. It took almost of his will not to bring his hand up to her face.

Nonetheless she had seen the intention and had flinched. The minuscule part of his rationale that had yet to succumb to his temper felt like punching himself for letting her think he'd actually hit her, but was quickly silenced by yet another layer of annoyance, for how dare she think he'd do it? She had just said, in that little gesture, that he was no better than Ivan Medina or any other abusive male out there.

And since he'd never hurt her physically, he did the next worst thing possible in his book: he insulted her by questioning her work, asking if flirting with the suspects worked better than his own style… or if it had helped with the higher-ups when she'd taken her detective exam.

He'd expected to feel the sting of her slap on his cheek, or even the burn of her punch in his stomach, but instead he got the silence treatment, the disappointed look in her face, the shine of tears brimming in her eyes, and all that was a thousand times worse. She moved to walk past him, and he called after her, not with apologies but with more taunts about her not being tough enough to take it like a true cop. As he watched her walk away from the crime scene, from the car, from him, he realized he had finally become his father's son, and he felt all the anger just wash away from him. He'd looked up, wanting to apologize, but she'd disappeared from his sight.

His and everybody else's, for that matter, for no one had seen her again after that.

Flack barely avoided being totaled between a garbage truck and a brick wall, and he winced at the scrapping sound coming from the wounded bender but kept on going for another eternity until he finally reached the abandoned bodega where reports of a female officer being injured had been received.

He was out of the car, barely throwing the shift on park, not wasting time with Kevlar and leaving the door open and the key on the ignition. He saw the paramedics waiting by, and he heard the sound of gunfire in a rapid staccato beat, exclamation points every time fire was exchanged. He moved behind a patrol, cursing not having brought his Kevlar with him, too late to go back to retrieve it. He was about to ask what the hell was going on when a rain of shattered glass and bullets surrounded them, forcing him and the other police officer to crawl under the patrol car, guns drawn, waiting for a moment to look for better shelter and better angles and better intel on what was happening.

Then he heard them. Louder, somber, more ominous. Two shots. He knew enough about weapons to realize those last two had been shot with a different gun. And he waited for something, but nothing other than the sound of silence was to be heard. When it became clear that nothing else would be heard, he crawled from underneath the car and joined the others who were headed for the door. He could see Danny and he could hear Mac and he could feel Levy's gaze burning on his back, but from her… from her he was getting nothing at all.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Somewhere during the Jurassic area of my days in junior high, you could buy books called "Choose your own adventure", where you could read the story with whatever ending you wanted just by making choices ("you want Elder to find Molly, turn to page 17; you want Molly to find Elder, go to page 3"). In this case, you'll have to tell who you want her to be, and if you want her to live or die, and I'll give you the ending you want… **


	2. Angell Dies

**A/N: Thanks for riding with me in this experiment. You're free to read the ending you want, or every ending in the "book". I'd love to hear what you think of it, though…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

"Please don't speak…"

But she had to tell him.

"He… he killed Andrea…"

Blood spattered with every syllable breathed.

His heart draining at the same speed hers did.

"He… thought… we… found him… out…"

Gargling sounds. Labored breathing. White dress shirt turning burgundy. Life seeping out as he held on tight.

"Jess… I…"

"D-don't..."

Absolution as part of the last rites, from the one departing to the one left behind.

"C-c-cold…"

Tightening grip against his chest; one heartbeat speeding as the other one slowed down. Hands holding tight, warm and sticky, bathed in vital liquid, unable to stop the flow of life escaping from her body, running through his fingers.

"I love you"

Smile reached her dying eyes before gracing scarlet tinged lips, briefly warming marble cold turning flesh.

"M-m-me t-t…"

Last confession made on last breath, last moments of life ebbing into the shadows as the last rays of light bathed two immobile figures before darkness enveloped them at last.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Hope to have made justice to your choice. Will greatly appreciate input on how I did it… first time I've ever "killed" anyone.**


	3. Angell Lives

**A/N: Thanks for riding with me in this experiment. You're free to read the ending you want, or every ending in the "book". I'd love to hear what you think of it, though…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

He couldn't remember coming in, shouting. He couldn't remember Mac giving orders right and left, securing the crime scene. He couldn't remember Danny calling out for the medics, as the unsub was still alive.

But if asked, he'd tell you every single detail of what was going on in the corner. He'd tell you that the gun trembled slightly as she held it in both hands for dear life. He'd tell you of the way her bloodied broken nose looked under the fluorescent lights. He'd tell you about how he knew her shoulder was dislocated just by the way it sloped at an unnatural angle. He'd tell you how his heart missed a heartbeat when he saw her look at him from under a curtain of dark hair, eyes huge and haunted.

He might not tell you that she flinched when he reached her side and touched her knee, a fact that he's ashamed to comment on to this day. He might not tell you how he growled at the EMT to just leave them the fuck alone because he can't or won't remember it. And he definitively won't tell you that, as morbid as it sounds, that was the moment when he finally understood he was in love with her.

He'd tell her, eventually. When her body had finally healed after all the surgical patching up she had required. When her split swollen lip has recovered its normal plumpness, lest he'd be afraid to hurt her if he attempted to kiss her. When the IAB investigation was closed and she was cleared of all charges for firing a gun, and she got her badge and piece back. When he found himself capable of looking at her in the eye and not getting lost there. When he's a hundred and three percent sure he's made enough amendments and she's finally forgiven him for all the pain he'd caused her.

One way or another, he's going to tell her.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Not much of a love story, I'm afraid… just a bit to whet the appetite, I hope!**


	4. Lindsay Dies

**A/N: Thanks for riding with me in this experiment. You're free to read the ending you want, or every ending in the "book". I'd love to hear what you think of it, though…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

They rushed in, adrenaline pumping; willing themselves not to think what may lay ahead. He could see Messer's tense stance, the way the muscles in his back seemed to bulge under the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. Messer shouldn't be here; he thought to himself, he was supposed to be on his day off.

Of course, that had all gone out of the window the moment someone said "Montana" and "danger" in the same sentence. Leave it to Danny Messer to answer with his heart and not his head. Leave it to him to still pin for the girl he had so foolishly lost. Leave it to Flack to fall for his best friend's girl.

A few steps before he opened the door, he hesitated, unsure as to what lay waiting for him inside. In his heart, he hoped against hope, but… the anguished cry turned raging scream confirmed what he had dreaded all along. His hand paused mid air, not quite ready to push the door open; his heart froze in the middle of his chest, not quite ready to face what he knew was now coming.

Danny. Danny grieving. Danny clutching her dead body to his own, howling in pain and despair. Danny swearing, demanding explanations and revenge. Danny turning against his friend, recrimination upon recrimination. Danny turning away, never to look back, leaving Flack shamed and heartbroken.

So he stayed outside, while everybody else rushed in. He wasn't ready to deal with it, he wasn't ready to see his best friend tearing; he wasn't ready to see the woman he'd slowly fallen in love with fallen down, never to raise again; he wasn't ready to see him holding her, not willing to let go, not able to let go…

Soon. Soon he'll have to go in there. Soon enough he'll have to start giving explanations and accepting accusations. Soon enough he'll have to tell Danny he was so, so sorry. Soon enough he'll start wondering about tending in his resignation and moving away from it all.

For now he was just getting used to the idea that one single gunshot had taken away the man he loved like a brother, the woman he adored and life as he knew it.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: That was the angstiest of them all…**


	5. Lindsay Lives

**A/N: Thanks for riding with me in this experiment. You're free to read the ending you want, or every ending in the "book". I'd love to hear what you think of it, though…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

He'd kept his distance until she was sitting on the back of the ambulance, covered with a warm blanket, sipping on hot tea. He'd then approached her and sat by her side, quiet for a while until he felt she was ready to hear what he had to say.

"You scared the shit out of me"

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't. Please. I'm the one who should be apologizing. If I learned how to control my temper…"

"It was a hard case… we said a lot of things we didn't mean to…"

"I behaved like an ass…"

"Don't say that…"

"Why not?"

"Because if you behaved like an ass then I behaved like a bitch, and that's not something I'm willing to admit just yet"

"I have an admission of my own to make…"

She looked up at him and their eyes locked down on each other for what seemed like the longest second ever on Earth. When he opened his mouth to speak, she placed two slightly trembling fingers on his lips to shush him.

"Don't. I know. I do too. Just… not yet, okay?"

He nodded and they stayed there, in silent companionship, sitting on the back of the ambulance, while she sipped a lukewarm tea, the blanket covering her cast aside, long forgotten, being kept warm by the unspoken promise of a future together.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Not exactly where I thought it'd end, but still…**


	6. Stella Dies

**A/N: Thanks for riding with me in this experiment. You're free to read the ending you want, or every ending in the "book". I'd love to hear what you think of it, though…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

The deafening silence filled his heart with dread. Everything was quiet, way too quiet, and he didn't like that one bit. Every step he took felt like getting closer to disaster and although he tried to keep positive, his cop instinct told him there were no good news awaiting for him behind those doors.

And yet he held unto hope. He held unto it by holding to years of good memories, from the echo of her laughter still ringing in his ears, from the warmth of her hand on his arm, from the feel of her curls on his face whenever he got a chance to hug her, from the way her green eyes sparkled with merriment when they were just being silly while being around.

He held unto hope until Danny's anguished cry shattered it.

They had been too late. Too, too late. He hadn't waited to kill her, not caring to find out if she was a cop, not caring what he left behind after this senseless act of violence. She had been dead before she even knew he was killing her, his knife swift and perversely precise, clean slash from side to side, taking her life in one brief instant.

Unknowingly taking his alongside, as well.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Decided not to get too graphic and delve too much into the dark side of this tale. **


	7. Stella Lives

**A/N: Thanks for riding with me in this experiment. You're free to read the ending you want, or every ending in the "book". I'd love to hear what you think of it, though…**

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

He rushed forward, ignoring the police officers warning about how the scene had not been secured yet. The fact that the unsub could be behind those doors, gun aiming and ready to shoot whoever came in first; the fact that taking a hit at such close range not wearing protection would surely be fatal, those facts did not register with him.

All that mattered was Stella.

Finding her alive. Being able to tell her he was sorry, that he hadn't meant a single word he'd said before… to finally admit he cared for her more than a coworker or a colleague. Maybe even kiss her back to health. Those were the things that mattered as he kicked open the door, Mac, Danny and the rest closed behind.

On the floor lay two crumpled bodies. White male in his 30's, blood pool underneath him spreading by the second; Flack knew he was dead without having to search for a pulse. A couple of feet away from him, Stella laid crumpled against the wall. A crimson stain darkening the plaster stung fear in his heart.

Completely ignoring the dead man, he reached her in three strides, kneeling by her side, frantically searching for a pulse, when he saw her open her eyes. Wincing due to the knife embedded in her shoulder as she tried to sit up, she found herself being gently, but firmly, supported by his arms. Looking up, she found herself looking into deep blue eyes, a whole kaleidoscope of emotion swirling in there.

"Stell…"

"I know…"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding unto her as paramedics reached her side. The weak loving smile she flashed his way before she closed her eyes as they strapped her on the gurney gave him hope. Hope that she might forgive him; hope that she might give him a chance.

Hope that his heart would stop being jumbled for once.

**X xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx X**

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this ending!**


End file.
